Looking Back
by Einmonim
Summary: A collection of Shannara short stories, featuring characters from the Heritage of Shannara. Latest story: Gavilan and Dal at the Harrow, while Wren, Triss, Garth, Stresa, and Eowen are gone. Won't be adding any new stories.
1. Rain

A/N: This and the following "chapters" are actually all, for the most part, stand-alone short stories (aka drabbles) that I wrote for a community… um, if you like them, or even if you don't, heh, you might want to check out my Ard Patrinell fanfic.  Or my Triss fanfic, but that one is really bad and corny, since it's so old.  But yeah.

Particular notes on this one: Walker Boh, pondering his future as a Druid.  Rated G because, well, it's just him pondering.  Joy.

Reviews would be nice.  XD

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**Rain**

Alone.

He was used to it by now, sitting at a long table in Paranor's main hallway, eating by himself. Well, Rumor was there too, but that didn't count. Moor cats weren't exactly the kind of things to be called company.

He sipped silently at his wine and listened to the rain pour down outside.

There was nothing to do these days but to wait. He was stuck in this stone palace, biding his time to create another Druid Council. By the time that happened, all his relatives might be dead. Even their children. And so on and so forth. A Druid must be patient.

"Come here, Rumor," he whispered, clicking his tongue. He held out some meat to lure the moor cat over, wanting someone to pet. Rumor came obligingly, and swallowed the chunk of meat with one gulp. "Is it tasty, precious?" he asked.

The cat stared at him.

For a moment, he thought he saw someone other than Rumor. Or at least, he wished he did. It had been so long since he had had human companionship.

_Calling a moor cat "precious"…so this is what I have sunk to…_

But there was no one else. There would probably be no one else, ever.

He stared at the wineglass, until it was trembling with intensity and finally burst.

_Walker Boh, High Druid and breaker of wineglasses._

Rumor moved out of the way as he stood up and walked to the library. The Druid Histories were here. He'd read all of them, and to his dismay, none of them had had what he would have considered a "happy ending". Tay Trefenwyd. Bremen. Allanon. Cogline.

He wondered if his name would be next on the list of people who gave up their lives to save the Four Lands. He didn't really want that. All he wanted was to be normal. To not be a scion of Shannara. To not have magic. To not be a Druid. To not be under the sway of Allanon.

_Wishes and dreams_, he thought. _Wishes and dreams._

And all the while, the rain continued to fall, a tribute to the gloom.


	2. The Tunnels of Arborlon

A/N: Again, just another drabble, unrelated to any of the others. This one in particular is about Triss in the tunnels of Arborlon (hence the title), in Morrowindl. Rated PG-13 for violence (although I really don't think it's too bad). Please review! XD And yes, this one is only about Triss, although I do plan to write something including Wren too, very soon now. Mmmhmm. 3

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**The Tunnels of Arborlon**

It took a while before he realized that he was hopelessly lost within the tunnels.

"Shades," he whispered to himself. Why'd he ever agree to be separated from the Owl? The Owl was the only one who knew the tunnels really well, and he was gone for the moment. And now Triss was all alone, confused, hungry, and defenseless save for the broadsword strapped across his back.

He turned around, in the hopes of being able to follow his footsteps back to their separation point, so that the Owl would pick him up and return him to the safety of Arborlon.

_And they call me a Captain of the Home Guard_, he thought, slightly amused.

A noise came from behind him suddenly, though, freezing him in his tracks.

_Please don't let that be what I think it is._

But he already knew that it was.

A low chuckle sounded from the darkness. "You think to do battle with me?" something rasped.

"I have no choice," Triss whispered. He hated the ones that could talk. The ones intelligent enough to taunt him and to prod at his weak spots.

The chuckle sounded again, but louder this time. "You honestly think you can beat me?"

_No_, the Captain of the Home Guard thought. "Yes."

"Very well."

Before he knew it, the Shadowen was already attacking, violet fire spurting from its clawed hands, aiming for Triss. But Triss was gone, sidestepping nimbly to the right, broadsword now in hand. Raising the sword above his head, he lunged for the monster, seeking to cut off its head. The Shadowen was ready, though, and one claw shot out to brush away Triss as if he were nothing more than a fly.

Triss shouted in pain as he hit the tunnel wall, feeling something crack. He stood up shakily, clutching at his stomach. A rib was broken, maybe two.

The violet fire appeared again, and this time Triss dodged just a second too slow, the fire charring his tunic and burning his left arm. He could imagine his arm crumbling away already, reduced to nothing but ashes.

_Don't think about it._

How was he supposed to win against this thing, though?

In a wild gamble, he flung his broadsword at the creature, grimacing in satisfaction as he heard it roar in pain. There was a flash of green, and he realized that it was the Shadowen's blood; that somehow he had severed off one hand. It spurted everywhere, making the ground sizzle. Acid.

Being careful to avoid it, he dashed over to one side to retrieve his fallen weapon while the other was still howling in pain. _An arm for an arm._

He could run now, he realized. But could he really allow this thing to live, to allow the possibility of it coming to kill him open?

_No._

A flash of inspiration came to him suddenly, and he clutched his sword in preparation. His ribs were still aching from where they had cracked, but he ignored the pain.

The monster looked up at him as he approached, lidded eyes clouded with hate. Fire spurted weakly from its one remaining hand, but its magic was spent. Brute strength would need to be employed now.

In one swift move, the Shadowen stood up and pounced at the Captain of the Home Guard, claws extended to tear out the latter's throat. But Triss was prepared for this, and bringing up his sword, he slapped the flat side of it against the monster's left arm, the one that was bleeding acid. He continued to press until the arm was flat against the body, making the acid bleed into its chest. The Shadowen howled in protest, trying to force the arm away. But Triss was persistent, and eventually the acid ate it through.

It dropped to the floor once its heart had been destroyed, unable to survive any longer. Triss nudged it lightly with his foot, and it disintegrated into ash.

_I did it._

Voices sounded from beyond, and a familiar face appeared. "Owl," he murmured, smiling, before lapsing into unconsciousness.


	3. First Encounter

A/N: Yet another drabble; most of these are. This one is about Walker meeting the Grimpond for the first time, woohoo. We all love Walker, now don't we. And I tried to make the visions the Grimpond show him similar to the ones it shows in the Shannara books - visions that have some truth in them, but not entirely, so that's why you may not get them immediately.

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**First Encounter**

The waters of the Grimpond were perfectly still, as if it were just an ordinary pond, with no shade bound to it for all eternity. Or maybe that meant it wasn't an ordinary pond at all, since what kind of pond could possibly remain motionless even during a breeze?

Walker Boh narrowed his eyes. The Grimpond was there, all right.

He walked slowly to the edge of the dirt path, stopping where it dropped off into the misty depths. Any moment now.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the waters of the pond suddenly churned, spewing water into the air. Walker shielded his eyes and wondered if maybe he should have listened to Cogline and not have come. But it was too late now.

"Show me who you are," he whispered.

The water seemed to coalesce, forming into a vaguely human shape. Eventually, what stood before him was a person, hooded and cloaked.

"Why must you disrupt me, even in death?" murmured the figure. A thin hand reached out from underneath the cloak and slowly pulled the hood down.

It was his mother.

Walker found himself kneeling suddenly, tears threatening to spring out of his eyes. She had died, years ago, claimed by that terrible, wasting illness. And now she was standing here.

_No._

_That isn't my mother._

"I know you're the Grimpond," he said harshly, though it took more effort than he would have thought to be talking back to a shade that looked like his mother.

Risse Boh laughed. She put back her cowl so that her face was in darkness again, and this time, when it was taken off, it was Walker's own face that looked at him. "Very well," sneered the shade. "If you cannot talk to her, then perhaps you can talk to yourself."

Walker flinched, but stood up shakily nonetheless. "I can play whatever games you play. If I must battle against myself, then so be it."

"Then battle against yourself you shall. I know why you came here, son of Ohmsfords and Bohs long gone. You wish to find out more about me, me, the being that was outwitted by your ancestor long ago."

Despite the warnings from Cogline, Walker started to shudder. The Grimpond knew so much about him. Too much. "So tell me."

The Grimpond laughed again, a hollow, empty sound that echoed throughout the surrounding forest. "Try to learn some patience. It'll do you good." The words were coated in irony and sarcasm. Its eyes—Walker's eyes—narrowed. "You wish to know more about me? Very well. Behold!"

Three visions appeared, playing out in rapid succession. In the first, Walker was facing off against a tall, dark figure, fire spurting from both of their hands. They circled each other like cats, each refusing to back off. And then the taller one, in a sudden burst of speed and grace, dodged past all of Walker's defenses and enveloped him in his own fire.

In the second, Walker was all alone, surrounded by nothing but a haze of white. Sometimes he was there, and other times he had faded away, to reappear a few seconds later. It was almost as if he were in a limbo world, there but not quite.

And in the last, he stood next to a tall, fierce-looking young woman by a greenish lake. The woman had Elven features, but was still of the race of Man. She could have been an Ohmsford herself; how similar they looked. And then, without further ado, she took his shoulders and submerged him in the lake, where he did not rise again.

The visions faded, and Walker closed his eyes to steady himself. "Is that my future?" he asked, his voice sounding coarse.

"It is your future if you wish it to be so. Something of the truth appears in each of these visions, and I will leave it to you to determine which." The Grimpond was smiling now, but there was no kindness in it.

Walker was remembering the third vision. Surely he had drowned when the girl pushed him into the lake. He wasn't sure if he really wanted that to happen.

"Lies," he whispered, as the Grimpond's vacant eyes bored into his own and its laugh sounded throughout the clearing, a promise of terrible things fate would soon dictate.


	4. Prince's Betrayal

A/N: Wow, haven't submitted anything in AGES. But, um, DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ ELF QUEEN OF SHANNARA YET, BECAUSE THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS. YES, SPOILERS. SO, UH, YEAH.

Otherwise, continue. Heh.

Anyway, you know how in Elf Queen, Wren and them go into the Harrow looking for Eowen and stuff, and then when they come back, they find Dal dead and Gavilan gone? I wanted to write the scene in which Dal dies (from Dal's point of view), since obviously TB doesn't do it, and… uh, I did, as is apparent. Heh. So continue. And review. Yay.

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**Prince's Betrayal**

The Elven Hunter and the Elven prince were perfectly still, unmoving. They had been that way since Triss and the others had left to seek out Wren, and nothing had happened since.

Dal glanced at Gavilan uncertainly. He knew what the other was thinking about; it reflected in his haunted eyes. The Rukh Staff. Gavilan seemed obsessed with the idea of possessing it, of using its magic to turn things back the way they were. It almost scared Dal, how feral and greedy it made him seem.

And then the prince spoke. "Dal."

The Elven Hunter glanced at him. "My Lord," he murmured, deferring to the Elessedil, casting aside all thoughts of Gavilan's need for the Staff for the moment.

"Dal," the other repeated. "I need you to do something for me."

Dal continued to regard him silently, saying nothing.

Gavilan hunched down within the folds of his cloak, shivering. "Surely they're all dead now. Eowen's probably been converted into a Drakul, and Lady Wren along with her. And knowing the Scat, he's probably lost himself and the others within the Harrow, and eventually they'll become monsters too."

"The Scat has an extraordinary sense of smell, you saw that the other day." Dal's voice sounded cracked and unused.

"I don't trust it. In any case… don't you see? We're the only ones that are left! If we don't leave now, the Drakuls will find us and the Elves will be doomed! There's no chance!"

Dal spoke softly. "There is always a chance."

The Elven prince looked away, fire in his eyes. "I thought you of all people would understand."

"I understand," the words were bile in his mouth, "that so long as we have no evidence that anyone is dead, we will stay here and wait."

"Dal!" His name was a controlled scream. "How long have we known each other? How long have you served the Home Guard while I was the prince? How—"

"I am held by my Captain's orders!" Dal almost shouted, angered now as well. What was Gavilan trying to do?

"Triss?" He sneered. "Triss is dead now! Surely the Drakuls have reached him! Following a dead man's orders is fool's play!"

Dal almost hit him. The fact that Gavilan was the Elven prince and Dal only an Elven Hunter was the only thing that kept him from doing so. "Dead man or not, I still obey."

Gavilan jabbed the Rukh Staff at Dal's nose. "I am Prince," he said in an even tone. "Anything I say overrides that of the Captain of the Home Guard. And I say for us to leave, with the Rukh Staff, and get off this cursed island."

"No." Dal shook his head. "Not while there's a chance that they're still alive."

"This isn't a game anymore," Gavilan whispered furiously. "There are lives at stake. Our lives. And if you would like to forfeit yours, so be it." He wheeled away.

Dal heard Gavilan rummage around in his packs, too incensed himself to move to face the prince. Leaving was fool's play, not staying. He couldn't abandon four people. Gavilan was being stupid.

Then, suddenly, he crumpled to the ground, an immense pain ratcheting through his head as Gavilan's weapon tore into his skull and split both skin and bone alike apart. He could feel the skin ripping into two. He could feel the blood begin to soak through his hair to land in scarlet puddles on the barren earth. He could feel, as if it were a palpable thing, the specter called Death come to pick him up.

Blood was leaking from his nose and mouth too by now. How could Gavilan have done such a thing…?

He heard the Elven prince's desperate voice. "I'm not going to die here. The magic is mine now, and I'm going to use it the way it's supposed to be used."

And then everything disappeared in a black haze, and Dal was gone.


End file.
